Revealed: Laird Hamilton’s 10 secrets to eternal youth!

Laird Hamilton is an impenetrable mystery, wouldn’t you say? A well-proportioned fifty-four-year-old who draws the stares of lunching women and who, if inclined, would be capable of wolfing down a fifty-pound salmon in a few breathless mouthfuls.

The sort of man who changes the channels on a television impatiently and very fast.

Laird Hamilton is a man incandescent with passion and emotion and addiction to dangerous exhilaration. He is also a man who demonstrably knows how to delay the onset of ageing.

1 Forget age. Just keep driving the car I take better care of myself today not as an accommodation to age but to maintain continual high levels of performance and just to feel good. I have a friend, Don Wildman (above), who’s 83 – an absolute stud who works out with weights, mountain bikes, paddles and surfs every day. Don’s a living example of what it’s like when you keep driving the car. What happens is we decide we’re old and we just stop, and everything stops working. There’s so much stigma and weirdness around being older. Don and I were watching a tennis match and the announcer was saying, “He’s 34 years old!” Get over it – and keep moving. Don’t wait until you have a health scare or collapse. Get off your butt and feel better now.

2 Take care of everyday priorities The stuff you do every day – your sheets and towels, the food you put in your body – these are your priorities. Not a fancy car or fancy clothes. For instance, I used to drink red wine every day – nothing like a good Bordeaux – but haven’t had a sip of wine or beer in nine years. Sugar is not good for your body and alcohol is one of the biggest culprits. Alcohol doesn’t taste good anyway. The reason people drink it is to have some sort of sensation, right? So if you’re not into that sensation, it’s a waste of time. It’s a discipline thing, too. As proof to myself that I had the willpower, I don’t do it. Bottom line: if you want your rocket to fly, put rocket fuel in it. I want to be able to do certain things at a certain level.

3 Be a fat-burning monster I don’t eat energy bars when I’m out on the water all day. In fact, I don’t need to eat anything. My body runs off its body fat. That’s because I’m paleo. I consume hardly any refined sugar, a few raw dairy products and almost no wheat or grains. I eat plants and animals. I grew up that way in Hawaii. Paleo researcher-kineseologist Paul Chek taught me that your body has enough fat on it to run for days… and that sugar fouls up your machinery. So after I cut alcohol, I began eliminating sugar and sugary fruit. I refined it over the past two years listening to primal lifestyle guru Mark Sisson and other paleo people. A triathlete can go for hours on a little almond butter and their own body fat. But if you eat refined carbs, your blood sugar spikes up and down. I love espresso. You could give me five shots of espresso, a quarter stick of butter, a quarter stick of coconut oil and other fat, and I’ll drink that. I could go for five or six hours and not be hungry, because I’m burning fat.

4 But don’t be a zealot I have a saying: “Every-thing in moderation, including moderation.” I make it achievable, not stressful for me and people around me. I’ll use a little coconut sugar. I’ve got friends who have to stick to a diet at all times, and the stress of that almost overrides the quality of the way you eat. My eating is not such a hassle that I can’t go anywhere.

5 Golf-ball your bare feet I grew up barefoot in Hawaii and didn’t give a thought to walking on gravel, but people who’d been in shoes their whole life couldn’t even cross the driveway. The feet are loaded with nerve endings and are the key to balance – and I’m in the balance business. In fact, we all are. I also believe the earth is charged with an electrical frequency that matches your nervous system and immune system. Bare feet allow us to absorb that energy. To restore dexterity and balance after I’ve been in shoes too long, I warm up by standing with one foot on a golf ball. I roll it around, poke it, put weight into tender spots. It’s amazing how your system will be stimulated through working your feet.

6 Watch your back I’ve had back issues and injuries over the years. When your back goes out, you’re out of commission. Give it relief with stretching and inversion, and strengthen it with core work. Someone once said, “If you did 20 minutes of headstands a day, you probably wouldn’t age.” Gravity is always pulling us down, and inversion fights it. I do it on a teeter board or an upside-down hammock. I do planks and rotational exercises with medicine balls and kettle bells on a Swiss ball. Any natural pick-lift-twist-drop movement pattern, like picking something off the ground and putting it on a shelf, builds core stability. Best one of all? Stand-up paddleboarding.

7 Do the water workout from hell To me, swimming laps in a pool is like punishment – being in a cage. Out of my disdain for lap swimming, I’ve developed what in my opinion is the greatest exercise routine you can do: a no-impact, high-intensity strength and cardio workout that is a cross between swimming and weightlifting. Holding small waterproof dumbbells, jump into a fairly deep pool and sink to the bottom. Then jump up as hard as you can to pierce the surface and gulp some air. As the weights pull you back, blow it out. Exhale as you fall, inhale after you shoot up. The exercise blasts your legs, which consume five times the oxygen as your arms. It’ll make you a stronger swimmer without having to swim laps.

8 Get role models It’s monkey see, monkey do. It’s hard to be the monkey that doesn’t see. We all need an example, a road map, to tell us what’s possible – a Jack LaLanne [the US fitness surperhero]. Am I going to fret that I’m old and washed-up when I’m mountain biking and paddling alongside Wildman, who’s 83? He lives, wears and eats a youthful lifestyle. And, by the way, who does Wildman use as his role model, since all his friends are dead? Me! So get younger buddies, too. When your friends get older and say: “I want to go play some bridge,” you tell them, “I don’t think so – I want to go jump off the bridge.’”

9 Be innovative in all aspects of your life Coming up with new ideas keeps me young and excited. [Hamilton and Wildman invented the GolfBoard, a kind of skateboard for golfers that won the PGA’s New Product of the Year award in 2014.] I think travelling to unique places gives you an opportunity to be active.

10 Make it fun Having as much fun as humanly possible is one of the keys to staying young, so find activities you love. I forget about time when I’m out there on a stand-up paddleboard. Activities are better than the gym because you’re not looking at the clock. You’ll do more reps in nature than you’ll ever do in the gym. You’ll go for hours and hours. And you’ll be thinking healthy thoughts – not about how old you are. As told to Roy Wallace.

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Death Proof: Adriano de Souza “can’t stop!”

How much do you believe in your job? Would you do illegal things for it? What about illegally drive in an emergency lane to get there on time? Well then you don’t believe in your job as much as Brazilian champion Adriano de Souza. And I can’t tell the story any better than the Geelong Advertiser so without further ado:

A WORLD surfing champion crashed into a taxi while running late for a heat at this year’s Rip Curl Pro, a court has heard.

Police allege Adriano de Souza was illegally driving in an emergency lane at Bells Beach when he collided with the front of the taxi, which was performing a U-turn.

The incident on Easter Monday this year happened soon before de Souza crashed out of the event during a third-round loss to American Conner Coffin.

The Geelong Magistrates’ Court heard yesterday the 31-year-old was in such a rush for the heat that he did not stop and exchange details after the collision.

It is alleged the Brazilian told the taxi driver: “I’m really sorry. I can’t stop.”

De Souza was not in court yesterday and there was no lawyer acting on his behalf.

Instead, the 2015 World Surf League champion sent an email to the court, explaining he was currently in Brazil and that his Australian visa had expired.

De Souza also said he was busy competing in professional surfing events around the world, including an upcoming competition in Bali.

He has been charged by police with careless driving and failing to keep left to the centre of the road.

The court had initially planned to deal with the case as an ex-parte hearing, which would have seen the charges decided without de Souza present.

But after further investigation by the prosecution, it later emerged he could have been following directions given by organisers of the Rip Curl Pro when he crashed.

“At the time of the alleged offending, the pro surfers were given instructions that, if running late, they would be allowed to go on the wrong side of the road … within a designated area. This happened outside that area,” prosecutor Senior Constable Kylie Jane said.

Now that is commitment.

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"I…I…I'm filled with loathing and self reproach. I feel bloated and empty at the same time."

Blood Feud: The Inertia vs The Sisterhood!

Swinging the all-men-are-bastards angle ain’t always an easy home run as The Inertia discovered recently when it ran a polemic by“writer, surfer, teacher, yogini, consultant and PhD candidate in development studies”, Tara Ruttenberg.

“Short of putting anyone in danger or acting like a complete asshole out there, I’m dropping into the waves I want, every wave I can make,” she wrote. “And I’m giving absolutely no apologies for being there. For being here. For being anywhere.”

“I have submitted a legal Cease and Desist Notice to The Inertia editors and the author of the defamatory rebuttal article that was published in follow-up to my story on women’s empowerment in surfing. The author of the article misrepresented my message and implicated my name in comments I never wrote nor promote, mis-quoting me in ways that are defamatory to my reputation as a scholar of critical surf studies. This was in concert with a smear campaign orchestrated by The Inertia itself, tagging me in incendiary posts using the same misrepresented language mis-quoted by the author of the article, as a result of which I received serious insults, bullying, sexist slurs and threats to my person, all of which I have reported as harrassment/bullying.Following receipt of my Cease and Desist Notice, I saw that The Inertia removed all Instagram posts as I requested and removed *some* but not all of the misrepresented statements associated with my name in the rebuttal article. I am still awaiting a formal apology and removal of the remaining language as reparation for the defamatory personal injury to my reputation, as demanded in my legal notice.I am sharing this so that all women and men know the ways in which women’s voices continue to be silenced/marginalized/misconstrued and otherwise shamed, when we get brave and speak up to share our stories with the world. And also, the legal recourse you have if something similar happens to you in the future. Please message me if this happens to you. I will no longer be publishing any more of my work with The Inertia.”

Now.

Getting the story pulled didn’t end the game. If you’ve got time and strong fingers to scroll down the page gobble up post after post until the very last mouthful.

“Today, The Inertia responded to my request for the removal of defamatory, misconstrued language from the rebuttal article written in response to my story on women’s empowerment in surfing by saying that they have removed both my story and the rebuttal article ‘as per my request.’ i want you to know that i did not request that they remove either article from their website, but rather that they remove the misrepresented language attached to my name in the rebuttal article that was defamatory to my reputation and consequentially injurious to my person.i receive this decision by the Inertia in response to my Cease and Desist notice not as any sort of reparation to the defamatory harm they both allowed and orchestrated against me (which they denied), but rather as yet another means of silencing my voice as a woman whose perspective does not align with the mainstream.the good news is you can still find my story in its original unedited version on my website (link in bio), AND this means it’s available for publication in another journal whose ethics align with a diversity of perspectives, unthreatened by the voices of surfing women willing to share the power of their stories with the world.i am filled with gratitude for the outpouring of uplifiting support, solidarity, connection and lively debate stimulated by this experience of sharing my story, and i look forward to reading, writing and sharing more stories of our experiences as women among the waves. so much love for surfing sisters and supportive brothers near and far. you are my inspiration.

And,

“1/2 Things I’ve learned (and re-learned) this week (:1) If you write a story about women’s empowerment in surfing, in which you describe certain middle-aged men with male pattern baldness as middle-aged men with male pattern baldness, many other middle-aged men with male pattern baldness may take personal offense to that, instead of engaging with the ideas you offered about women’s empowerment in surfing. *Are there more PC terms to describe middle-aged men and male pattern baldness that I’m not aware of? Hairless males between the ages of 40 and 60? This is an actual question.2) For-profit magazines, with dubious ethics beholden to industry advertisement, may re-word your story to create undue drama as a sales strategy, capitalizing on both your strength and your vulnerability, championing your story one day, and then hanging you out to dry over the weekend as best suits their capitalist interests, twisting the truths in your story into a soap opera battle of the sexes, and ultimately silencing your voice when you stand up for yourself and take legal action against instances of libel. My attitude here (similar to my attitude in my story) is less hate the player (read: for-profit media and middle-aged, privileged bald men) and more hate the game (read: capitalism and patriarchy). Unfortunately, somewhere between the message and the messenger, that attitude seemed to be lost on many, but fortunately not on all.

“[2/2] More things I’ve learned and re-learned this week:

3) With the social institutionalization of white male privilege comes great fear and insecurity, as the sociohistorical grip on power begins to unravel with dissenting voices and non-conforming actions withdrawing consent to patriarchy, the response to which often employs the heavy-handed tools of denial, selective ignorance, aggression, bullying, and harassment in defense of imploding identities disrupted by empowered feminist awakenings. To that I will say: the ways you wield your waning privilege to either support toward equitable change or stick to your guns in the face of these very real threats to the status quo, will determine less the future of that change and more your capacity to weather that change. For those suffering this fate, my compassion for you does not implicate my silence as a woman whose words and actions are not beholden to unjust social realities that might otherwise accommodate your unjust sense of comfort that you may or may not recognize as privilege.4) while experience has shown me that women have few spaces for expressions of empowerment, freedom, rage, dissent and diversity in the world of surfing (and life), I am excited by the spaces being created beyond the mainstream in conversations, gatherings, art, publications, films, storytelling and events, where we can celebrate our unique perspectives and collective possibilities through ethics of support, solidarity, freedom, love, and diverse femininities, toward greater empowerment for women in surfing and beyond.In other words, damn it’s hot in this kitchen, but I ain’t goin’ nowhere.Or more appropriately, fuck your sweaty ass kitchen, we’re building our own castles in the sea.”

Do you feel like you’ve just had a bucket of wet concrete poured on your face?

Or are you, like me, enchanted by the hissing fury?

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Listen: All the ills of the world solved!

What a week it has been so far. Just yesterday morning I woke up, called it a rollercoaster, detailed the various stories on BeachGrit, got in my car, drove to San Clemente, sat down across the now famous coffee table from David Lee Scales and spoke into the microphone.

This time I am enjoying the moment. It feels good. It was a silly thing to write a book and direct a movie in the same short window but anything James Franco can do I can do better (except throw orgies).

And across the coffee table from David Lee Scales I jitterly jabbered like I was on cocaine. We chatted about sexism, racism and retardation. All very important topics of our day and I am certain it is our best podcast yet. Would you like to listen? It won’t hurt my feelings if you say no. I know that I have a voice for writing but I think it is fun.

Like I said, our best one yet.

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The Panda, Brazilians at Uluwatu and everyone who understood the power of a man “tryna feed and water my seed”, when “success is my only motherfuckin option, failures not” celebrated wildly. | Photo: WSL/Cestari

Cardoso: “Success is my only motherf$ckin option!”

Can we start with a little rhapsody on the utility of Uluwatu as a locale for Pro Surfing? Good. It’s a poor mans G-Land, which is good. Leave G-Land alone. Gland is wasted on Pro surfers. Leave it for the gimlet-eyed tube freaks of the World.

You can ride it, Ulus that is, at any size, at any tide. Racetrack is fun at three foot. Outside Corner is majestic at ten-foot. There are short punchy rides, medium rides and long, complex multi-chaptered rides. The tradewind is welcomed as a friend – the way one monkey on the cliff welcomes another to groom and pick out lice – not an unruly intruder.

There are other sections of the wave for rec surfers to ride. You can get up to Temples or maybe sneak a few at Racetracks if they are up at the peak.

Ulus is good enough to be a canvas for all kinds of performance surfing and imperfect and variable enough to be challenging in any given 30 minute heat.

In short, with Cloudbreak off the schedule it’s the best venue on Tour.

Perfunctory round three heats were completed to start the morning. Yago Dora surfed a good heat but Filipe stuck a half Hail Mary air to get a win. Duru looked silky to easily account for an ageing and off-the-pace Joel Parkinson. Mikey, of course, got a walk through.

Have you noticed a fact about round four, three-man elimination heats that is becoming more glaring with each contest? They have more drama. Every round four heat saw multiple lead changes.

In fact, if my notes are not mistaken, each saw complete reversals in fortune. Last place into first and first place into last. Owen’s spice-laden frontside whips looked money in heat one but he ended up in last place. Kolohe waited until the far back end of the heat to get started and took first place.

M’Rod was sizzling in heat two, “hot and loose” according to Joe. He changed up his board and somehow went from first to last in a heat with Julian and Connor Coffin.

The strange symmetry continued in both heats three and four. Medina did the best surfing on the worst waves. He found a long time tunnel for a big score and went from last to first.

Cardoso went from first to last and then fought back to eliminate a desperately unlucky O’Leary.

For the first time this year I was starting to dig on the Panda’s attack. Instead of slow ponderous faux-power hacks he was generating big-time momentum between turns and crushing lips.

Toledo’s opening wave of heat four was a heinous underscore, the first of a few shocking misreads from the panel. A 5.67 that should have been in the sevens.

Toledo’s opening wave of heat four was a heinous underscore, the first of a few shocking misreads from the panel. A 5.67 that should have been in the sevens.

Mikey Wright looked scratchy and boggy to my eye but scraped his way through.

Kaipo reminded him if he went to the finals he’d be surfing four times today and what he thought about that. Gabe visibly shrugged and responded, “Thats what I train for.” I could have hugged him.

I detest this namby-pamby false stoicism of the over-paid pro. Australian, American, South African.

The second quarter between Julian and Jordy was the heat of the event. Jordy was magnificent, the best six-feet-and-under surfer in the world, on any given day. The form surfer of the day. Judges kept overcooking Julian’s scores for what were sometimes blatant score manufactures.

When I lay me down to sleep at night I lay awake dreaming and scheming about how I can grind my competitors into the dust.

Posit a hypothetical scenario where Surf Writing is a late inclusion into the 2020 Olympics at Tokyo. I face off with the great Louie Samuels in the semis after he narrowly defeats D Rielly in the quarters. What’s he got: Better writing, nicer sentences, sharper wit. What do I got: Stronger backstory, bigger themes, bolder ideas. I take him in a cliff-hanger and Nick Carroll who controversially missed out on inclusion into the Australian team* is doing the pressers.

“How’d ya do it Shearer, how’d ya take him?”

“I knew all that gravy suckling on the Silicon Valley teat would make him a little complacent, so I hit him in that soft little belly”.

Know what I mean? I identify with the hunger.

Thats why I train.

Exactly.

Unfortunately, that hunger could not mask a lack of form for Medina and a sleepy lineup. If I had to describe Medina’s surfing this year in a word it would be brittle. Brittle and fractious and constituted of lots of disconnected moments of brilliance that he can’t seem to link together into a chain through space and time. He fell on an opening wave against Mikey Wright which could have been a winning wave. Then scrapped together scores in a sleepy heat. Mikey pegged a six then waite and waited and with 20 seconds to go cobbled together another scrappy wave.

The second quarter between Julian and Jordy was the heat of the event. Jordy was magnificent, the best six-feet-and-under surfer in the world, on any given day. The form surfer of the day. Judges kept overcooking Julian’s scores for what were sometimes blatant score manufactures.

Did he get the score? I said no. Judges said yes. What do you put that down to? A mixture of composure, luck and and out-of-form opponent.

The second quarter between Julian and Jordy was the heat of the event. Jordy was magnificent, the best six-feet-and-under surfer in the world, on any given day. The form surfer of the day. Judges kept overcooking Julian’s scores for what were sometimes blatant score manufactures.

Kolohe got absolutely cooked by this phenomenon. He was clearly the better surfer, on the better waves doing the better surfing against Julian in semi one. It seemed that at some sub-conscious level they were going to pay whatever Julian did with big scores. Kolohe’s presser was meek. He had nothing to say, no fire to let out, as Joe would put it. Even Strider was shocked at both the call and Brother’s obsequiousness to it.

Semi two was Panda Mullet two. The rematch. By this stage I was a full fledged Panda fan. The big fans and perfect flow were undeniable. But it was meat and potatoes. Mikey had every opportunity to bring the hi-fi noise and blow him off the Racetrack. Again Wright caught few waves and laid anchor. Again, chasing down a score he rode a wave on the buzzer for a high-drama finish. This time I thought he had the score. Judges thought otherwise. The momentum for a fairytale finish for the Panda was undeniable.

Cardoso shed tears before the Final. And it looked like the emotional weight of his story was finally starting to drag him down. His first wave looked boggy. The tide came in. The surf slowed down. He nailed two waves and the judges over-scored both of them. Julian needed close to a ten with minutes remaining. He tore into a wave with a little toy air on the end, a completely conservative attempt at score manufacturing via “progression”. Judges fell for it and awarded an eight.

The clock ticked down and nothing else came in. The Panda, Brazilians at Uluwatu and everyone who understood the power of a man “tryna feed and water my seed”, when “success is my only motherfuckin option, failures not” celebrated wildly.